


These Shadows Keep on Changing

by nox_candida



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, BAMF!John, Kidnapping, Multi, Series 2 Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nox_candida/pseuds/nox_candida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gaps in Mycroft’s expression hint at a tension, a stress, that John has never witnessed in either brother, not even in the most dire circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Shadows Keep on Changing

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a new fic. I wrote this almost two years ago, but decided that I should rework it to reflect Series 2. This hasn't been Britpicked. If you notice any inconsistencies or typos, please let me know.

He’s become used to the sleek black cars that pull up alongside him without warning, so when this one does, he thinks nothing of it. He gets in, settles back against the leather seat and barely exchanges a cursory nod with Mycroft’s PA.

What does surprise him, however, is the black backpack she pushes towards him without explanation or even acknowledgement. He’s itching to get his fingers around the zipper, to dig through the rather full looking bag to find out what on earth is inside, but if there is one thing he learned during his time in the Army, it’s discipline. He keeps a tight lid on his curiosity as the black car slides through the evening traffic.

It’s barely any time at all before they reach their apparent destination—an abandoned warehouse, of course, and John allows himself to wonder what Mycroft’s penchant for abandoned warehouses says about the man. John’s not sure he wants to know. Regardless, it’s on the tip of his tongue to make a flippant remark about Holmeses and dramatic gestures—he would never admit it to Sherlock, but he enjoys perturbing Mycroft almost as much as Sherlock does—but when he spots the look on Mycroft’s face as he steps out of the car, any thought of poking fun at the man flees.

John has, over the course of his time with Sherlock, become much more adept at reading the nuances in the otherwise blank and bland spaces in a person’s expression. He can read the gaps, the unnatural stillness in muscles, the careful flatness of eyes, the lack of movement around the mouth. The blankness, especially with the Holmes brothers, is often more telling than the carefully constructed masks of emotion they don and remove at will.

The gaps in Mycroft’s expression hint at a tension, a stress, that John has never witnessed in either brother, not even in the direst circumstances--and he has more than a passing familiarity with those situations.

So, he dispenses with any thought of a pithy one-liner or a cordial greeting, and tries very hard not to think about the lead weight that is settling very heavily in the pit of his stomach.

“Doctor Watson, what do you know about Sherlock’s most recent case?”

John blinks at the man. “Not much,” he replies honestly, though cautiously. Sherlock had kept surprisingly mum about what he’d been working on, merely saying that it involved following a lead to Budapest. John had already committed to cover at the surgery for someone who had the flu, and Sherlock had assured him it wouldn’t take more than six days, a week at the most.

Since it had only been five days since Sherlock had left, John hadn’t had cause to worry. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

“Why?” he asks after a moment, a warning note in his voice that had often made the men in his command fall all over themselves to stay out of his way.

“He’s gone missing,” Mycroft says simply, his voice level despite the information he’s imparting. If it were anyone else, John would be shocked and disbelieving, or perhaps he’d suspect a prank, but he doesn’t in this case. Mycroft’s often inscrutable, or difficult to read, but not this time.

“When?” he asks, his voice steady.

“Some intelligence has been received indicating that a man matching Sherlock’s description was seen leaving Karachi, heading into the Pakistani countryside two days ago.” 

When Mycroft falls silent, John clenches his jaw, but does his best to respond calmly. “Pakistan? He said he was going to—”

“Budapest. And he did. Or, at least, he started to. Sherlock used his credit card to purchase one ticket on Lufthansa Flight 2473, and I’ve had confirmation that he did indeed board that flight.”

“Started to?”

Mycroft clears his throat. “The flight had a layover in Munich. He would have had to change planes.”

“So he got off the plane and…what? Got on one going somewhere else?”

“Essentially. His exact movements have proven difficult to track, but I believe that he used a falsified passport to board another plane headed to India.”

“Why? Why would he do that?” John demands, clenching his hands into fists.

Mycroft hesitates, briefly, but it immediately puts John on his guard. “There have been reports that a certain woman ran into some difficulties in Pakistan.”

John steadies himself, clenches his fists and then consciously unclenches them. “And you think he went after her? Why?”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow and Johns stares at him, daring him to comment. “Unfinished business, perhaps. Some amount of…sentimentality,” he finishes, a wealth of distaste in his tone.

It feels as though his throat is closing up at the thought of Sherlock feeling _sentimental_ about The Woman. After everything that’s happened…

But that sort of thinking is useless right now. He pushes the instinctive emotional reaction down, without much hope that it’s escaped Mycroft’s notice. “And what would you have me do about it?”

“That’s for you to determine.” Mycroft pauses. “Provided you’re prepared to come out of retirement.”

John stiffens slightly. It’s not surprising, really. He should have known, of course, that Mycroft would find out—minor position in the British government, indeed—and given all of the emotional shocks in this conversation, one more shouldn’t affect him. It shouldn’t, but it will later, and there’s already a niggle in the back of his brain, a voice wondering if Mycroft has known all along, if he could even have been involved with the disaster that had been his last assignment—

No. It’s not the time to worry or wonder—about anything he’s learned. That will happen later, after he’s found Sherlock. Right now, that’s all he can focus on: the job.

John inclines his head minutely, gaze never leaving Mycroft.

“Good,” Mycroft says, “because you’re the best and the only one I trust to get him back.” John thinks he detects layers of anger, of worry and fear, or determination and cold-blooded vengeance underneath. Then again, John could be projecting, because he’s feeling all of those things himself, bubbling within his blood, turning the lead weight white-hot. Conversely, in these situations, he always grows calm and clear-headed, can push emotion aside to do what needs to be done.

And that’s fine, because when he finds the people responsible for taking Sherlock, he will be calm and methodical as he takes them apart.

“What can you tell me?” John asks, impatient to hear whatever Mycroft has to say so that he can be on his way.

“Your bag contains all of the latest intelligence, as well as your mission brief, your passport, your card, your…licence. Even your weapon.”

John doesn’t flinch, but it’s a very near thing. He’s not concerned that Mycroft knows he still has it—he hardly expected anything that important to get past the man—it’s more the invasion of his privacy. But, again, it’s not important right now.

“You have a long flight ahead of you,” Mycroft says, inclining his head ever so slightly to indicate the car. 

There are so many things in his expression that Mycroft doesn’t say, but John doesn’t need him to. _Find him_ and _bring him home safely_ are prominent, but there’s also, _by any means necessary_ and _no questions asked_.

That’s enough for John, and he’s already headed back to the car, just about to get in when he hears Mycroft say, “Welcome back, 009.”

John freezes for only a moment, and then he gets in the car. He’s a job to do.


End file.
